Laura V. Hilton is back on Wednesday Writers today, talking about the Story Behind the Story of Married by Mistake. Welcome, Laura. I can’t wait to hear about Married by Mistake. BTW, I love that title and Mackinac Island. I’ve always wanted to write a story set there.

Thanks, Catherine.

When my agent asked me if I’d be willing to write a historical novella for a collection she was putting together for another author, I jumped at the chance. I usually write Amish romance (which I love) but I wanted to try my hand at historical. And a novel set in my home state of Michigan would be a dream come true. I had several ideas and I pitched them all to my street team to see which they liked best and the majority chose this idea.

Mackinac Island was a popular vacation destination in the Victorian era where the wealthy city residents went to escape the heat of the city. A perfect setting for a wounded hero to escape from gossip – at least until the socialites arrived – and then have to face his demons and come to terms with his past.

While writing this story, I also was homeschooling my two youngest children and my youngest daughter (a reluctant reader) was reading Alice in Wonderland out loud. Since that was a new book on the market at the time my story was set, it seemed fun to include bits and pieces of that story in mind, wrapped with the history of the island and the mess our hero and heroine would soon find themselves a part of.

I hope you enjoy reading Second Chance Brides Romance Collection – as well as my novella, Married by Mistake.

Here’s an excerpt:

Married by Mistake

by Laura V. Hilton

Chapter 1

Mackinac Island, 1902

A kiss.

The sea spray touched Bessie O’Hara’s face as gently as she imagined he—whoever he might be—would some day brush his lips across her cheeks.

She couldn’t wait.

If only she could skip all the tiresome courtship rituals like monotonous parlor visits and chaperoned strolls. She’d also eliminate the formal calling cards and fluttering fans society demanded and go straight to the happily-ever-after.

It wasn’t that easy. She glanced at her two cousins, giggling behind their fans, as they stepped off the ferry onto the dock leading to the island. They looked toward some gentlemen who’d come to meet the boat. Judging by their clothing, they were there for the summer season as well. They certainly weren’t employees hired to drive the buggies and wagons.

Bessie smoothed her hand over her dress. Splotches of water dampened the material under her touch. With a sigh, she looked around for her family’s carriage. Papa had wired ahead and told the driver when to meet the ferry. She didn’t see the carriage, but a large crowd blocked her view.

She didn’t want to do this. Not that she minded visiting her family’s vacation home on the island, or escaping the stifling August heat of Grand Rapids, or even spending time with her cousins. But this was so much more than a summer reprieve. Henrietta and Rosella were husband-hunting and dragging her along, completely against her will.

And worse? Her parents completely agreed with her cousins. It was time she got married. That was a woman’s highest calling—to manage a husband and a household.

Or so she’d been told.

She’d been looked over so many times before she was afraid of facing another rejection. Was she somehow defective because her hair wasn’t pale blond like Rosella’s or a deep, dark red like Henrietta’s? She dreaded being put on endless display in the “meat market” and found lacking over and over during the tiresome rituals.

If only she could have said husband handed to her, dropped in her lap, maybe even delivered, gift-wrapped with a ribbon and a card reading, “Here he is. Treat him well.” Instead she’d been forced to endure countless teas in stifling parlors from her usual place on the fringes.

Bessie stepped up her pace to catch up with her cousins who already neared the end of the dock. She didn’t want to be left behind. A gentleman wearing a plaid cap stood in her way, talking to someone, and she stepped to the side to keep from hitting him, but he turned sharply and bumped her in the side with his elbow. Her foot landed on the edge of the dock. She groped for something to grab onto but came up with nothing but air. She gulped a breath that emerged as a high-pitched squeal, and tumbled toward the water.

A strong hand grabbed her by the back of her dress, jerking the fabric up tight, and she flailed. Was this how a fish on a hook felt? She eyed the cold, fishy water she’d almost fell into. Seconds later, another hand closed around her elbow, the grip tightening as the hand on her dress released the material, slid around her waist and hauled her back against a firm chest.

Shocks raced through her body like the rise and fall of waves crashing against the shore during a storm. His arm firm against her, the man loosened his grip on her elbow. Then the arm wrapped around her waist slid away.

Slid—the fingers took a leisurely tour of the silky fabric covering her abdomen. There had to be something improper about this, but the touch set her senses on fire, charring her thoughts almost before they formed. She tried to take a deep breath and lightheadedness made her dizzy, overwhelmed with how quickly her situation had changed from impending bath to rescue.

“Watch where you’re going.” The voice was brusque, hardly matching the rest of the sensations. And with those harsh words, he released her. Her feet set firmly on the wood planks, free from his disturbing touch.

Bessie jerked her shoulders in an angry twitch as she turned carefully around and moved away from the edge of the dock. She didn’t want a repeat performance. “Watch where I’m going? Let’s try being more careful, Mr….”

Her voice trailed off as she stared into grayish-blue eyes, the color of the water on a winter day. Stubble shadowed the man’s chin, and his equally dark hair, a bit on the long side, peeked out from under a plaid cap.

He adjusted the brim as a muscle jerked in his jaw.

Wait. He was the man who’d stood on the opposite side of the ferry and stared at her during their ride over to the island, his gaze boring into her until she turned.

He’d quickly looked away.

Her fingers had itched to sketch his portrait. Strong. Dark. Handsome. And dangerous. She tried to memorize his features, but he’d glanced back at her and caught her staring.

Then it’d been her turn to look away and try to distract herself by listening to another half hour of her cousins giggling about potential prospects.

“You.” The single word sputtered out without warning. She resisted the urge to clamp her hand over her mouth. Maybe she should apologize for being so rude. But then she’d need an explanation for why she’d said it and she had none. Other than… well, he drew her and made her long to be his helpmeet. Not that she’d ever admit it to anyone.

He bowed at the waist, his lips twisting into something resembling a grimace, and he waved his hand. “Ladies first.”

About the Author:

Laura V. Hilton is an award-winning, sought-after author with almost twenty Amish, contemporary, and historical romances. When she’s not writing, she reviews books for her blogs, and writes devotionals for blog posts for Seriously Write and Putting on the New.

Laura and her pastor-husband have five children and a hyper dog named Skye. They currently live in Arkansas. One son is in the U.S. Coast Guard. She is a pastor’s wife, and homeschools her two youngest children.

When she’s not writing, Laura enjoys reading, and visiting lighthouses and waterfalls. Her favorite season is winter, her favorite holiday is Christmas.

Today Sandra Merville Hart is guest posting on Wednesday Writers talking about her newest Inspirational Historical Romance, A Rebel in My House. I had the privilege of reading an advanced copy of this book, and I highly recommend it to anyone who loves Civil War history. Sandra put me in the middle of the battle, made me feel the anguish of the soldiers and the civilians, and even caused me to weep at one point. It’s a novel of love and sacrifice during one of our country’s most famous Civil War battles. So, without any further delay, I’ll let her tell you the story behind A Rebel in My House. Welcome, Sandra!

Thanks, Catherine.

Something drew me yet again to Gettysburg. I knew there was a story waiting for me. My husband and I walked the battlefields. Ideas stirred when I found Tennessee troops with the brigade who began the fighting on the first day. Nothing solidified so I kept digging. I visited the museums. I discovered fascinating history at the Lutheran Theological Seminary at the Gettysburg Seminary Ridge Museum. Surely my story touched this place. After spending several hours exploring the museum and surroundings, no ideas came. I trudged on.

I explored Gettysburg museums, spending hours at the Gettysburg Museum and Visitor Center, Gettysburg Museum of History, Gettysburg Railroad Station, General Lee’s Headquarters Museum, and The David Wills House where President Lincoln stayed. I learned captivating facts at the Jennie Wade House, Shriver House Museum, and “The Women of Gettysburg Tour,” an evening walking tour.

Ideas strengthened. My husband and I walked the town’s streets around the “Diamond” or the town square where the women and children suffered through a nightmare from which they didn’t awaken for many months. Then we spent another afternoon and evening at the battlefield.

Three Tennessee regiments fought the beginning battle on July 1st. They didn’t fight again until they joined in Pickett’s Charge.

The sun sank low on the horizon as I stood alone on Cemetery Ridge. The expansive field crossed by Pickett’s Charge on July 3, 1863, captured my imagination. Though the land is peaceful once more, it still tells a story. My imagination soared while the sun disappeared.

I had to tell what the townspeople endured. What if a Gettysburg woman fell in love with a Confederate soldier? What if they both made promises to loved ones? Some promises are impossible to keep …

I reluctantly left the ridge because I had a story to write.

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A Rebel in My House

By Sandra Merville Hart

When the cannons roar beside Sarah Hubbard’s home outside of Gettysburg, she despairs of escaping the war that’s come to Pennsylvania. A wounded Confederate soldier on her doorstep leaves her with a heart-wrenching decision.

Separated from his unit and with a bullet in his back, Jesse Mitchell needs help. He seeks refuge at a house beside Willoughby Run. His future lies in the hands of a woman whose sympathies lay with the North.

Jesse has promised his sister-in-law he’d bring his brother home from the war. Sarah has promised her sister that she’d stay clear of the enemy. Can the two keep their promises amid a war bent on tearing their country apart?

Excerpt:

Friday, June 26, 1863

Two miles outside Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

Running feet on the dirt road outside quickened Sarah Hubbard’s heartbeat. Her fingers stiffened on her sewing machine and her back straightened.

Were they coming? Every conversation these days centered on the Confederate soldiers crossing into southern Pennsylvania.

“Miz Hubbard. Miz Hubbard, please let us in!”

Not soldiers but friends. Sarah’s body sagged at Elsie Craig’s voice, but why did she yell? Sarah dropped the gingham dress she’d been sewing and ran to throw open the front door. Alarmed at the fear lining Elsie’s dark face and eyes as she clutched the hand of her four-year-old daughter, Mae, Sarah scanned the horizon for Confederate soldiers. “Hurry inside.”

Elsie needed no second bidding. She guided Mae over the threshold and closed the door. “Miz Hubbard, you gotta hide us.” Her tall, thin body leaned against the door. “The Rebs are in town gathering up all the colored folks they can find. Someone said they’ll be taking them south as slaves and that they’re warning folks not to hide us.”

Sarah gasped. “Why do such a terrible thing?”

“Don’t make sense, does it? Some of us have lived in Gettysburg for years. Others like me have always been free, but it don’t seem to matter to the Southern army.” A long loaf of bread peeked out among jars and clothing in a well-laden basket Elsie set on the rug. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her trembling child. “I had to leave my house and most of my possessions, but I’ve got the most important thing right here.” She looked up at Sarah as she patted Mae’s shoulder. “Last week my Sam left for Pine Hill, the settlement up near Biglerville. With it being two miles off the main road to Carlisle, the Rebs won’t find him there. Sam never expected the army to come after women and children or he’d never have left us. I miss him something fierce. We’ll go to him when the soldiers get out of town.”

Tears etched tracks in a smudge on Mae’s cheek, tugging at Sarah’s heart as much as Elsie’s wide eyes and trembling hands. Sarah rushed to an open window and pushed aside the curtain a few inches. The Pennsylvania governor, Andrew Curtin, had declared a state of emergency two weeks earlier and called for local militia. Where was their help?

About the Author:

Sandra Merville Hart, Assistant Editor for DevoKids.com, loves to find unusual or little-known facts in her historical research to use in her stories. Her debut Civil War romance, A Stranger On My Land, was an IRCA Finalist 2015. Her second Civil War romance novel, A Rebel in My House, is set during the Battle of Gettysburg. It released on July 15, 2017. Visit Sandra on her blog at https://sandramervillehart.wordpress.com/.

Today, Wednesday Writers welcomes Leeann Betts to the blog. A romantic suspense writer, with book number 6 out in her By the Numbers suspense series, Leeann will be giving us a glimpse into her daily life as a romantic suspense writer. Welcome, Leeann.

Thanks, Catherine,

When I was growing up, I loved to watch movies where a writer was involved. I particularly enjoyed watching about women from small towns who made up stories about love and happily-ever-afters and handsome cowboys and men who were true heroes.

So when I grew up, it seemed only natural to write those kind of stories. And because of the support of the best gift God could give to me, my husband Patrick, I can do that.

Sometimes I have to pinch myself because I feel like I’m living out my dreams. And not because I live in a castle or have nothing to worry me.

I’m living my dream because I know I am right where I’m supposed to be. God has called me to be a writer. I’ve taken that calling seriously and “gone back to school” by attending a number of writer’s conferences, by being a member of several critique groups and applying feedback, and by writing.

That may seem like a strange thing to say, that as a writer, I write.

But how many people have you met who say they’re a writer, but you never see word one from them? Or who haven’t gone to a conference? Or won’t join a critique group? Or won’t even let you see what they’ve done?

As writers, we must be willing to be transparent to God, transparent to other writers, and transparent to our readers.

This dream life I live includes spending most of every day in the same room as the love of my love, my husband. Our marriage and our romance thrives on being in close contact. For the first five years we were married, we never went anywhere without the other. Friends used to tease us that we were joined at the lip and the hips.

Hubby and I spend time in devotions, prayer, and scripture reading every morning, in addition to our own individual quiet time. Then we work from home together, and often work together in ministry in the evenings.

My day, once we’re done with devotions, usually begins with writing something. Emails, blog posts, social media posts, perhaps a synopsis for a book proposal, and then actual words in a manuscript. On Mondays, I meet several writer friends at a coffee shop and we all write together. That time is a set-in-stone appointment in my calendar.

Do I write all day every day? No, I don’t. But even when I’m not sitting at my computer, I’m thinking about the story. Keeping the story in my head helps keep me anchored in the story, so I don’t have to spend so much time reconnecting before I write.

But here’s one thing I do before I start on my story: I pray. I thank God for letting me be the first person to see and hear this story. And I ask for faithfulness as I transcribe the story that He wants to tell.

Because I truly believe that without Him, no story is worth telling.

I write romantic suspense because I like justice. I want the good guys to win, and the bad guys to get what they deserve, always keeping love and compassion as my guides, of course. I also like mysteries, and I love answering the big What If? Questions, getting my characters into more trouble, and getting them out.

Because I know the trouble I got myself in, and what God had to do to get my attention. What Jesus had to do to redeem me. And what the Holy Spirit goes through in dealing with me day after day.

As I said at the beginning, my hubby is my biggest fan and supporter. He believed in me before I ever believed in myself, and he not only encourages me, he takes on tasks around the house when I’m under deadline. He supports me financially; I don’t have to work outside the home because he wants me to write. That doesn’t mean I don’t contribute to the household. I do. I work one day a week for a company that produces legal transcripts. I am the main cook, cleaner, grocery shopper.

But without his love and faith in me, I couldn’t do what I do.

Just as without God, I’d never be living my dreams.

Here’s the Blurb from Hidden Assets by Leann Betts

Carly Turnquist, forensic accountant, responds to a call from her friend, Anne, who is in the middle of a nasty divorce, and travels to Wyoming to help find assets Anne thinks her husband has stolen. But the mystery begins before Carly even arrives when she sees a man thrown off a train. Except there’s no body. Husband Mike uncovers an illegal scam in a computer program he has been asked to upgrade, and then Anne is arrested for her ex’s murder. Can Carly figure out what’s going on, and why a strange couple is digging in Anne’s basement? Or will she disappear along with the artwork, coins, and money?

About the Author:

Leeann Betts writes contemporary suspense, while her real-life persona, Donna Schlachter, pens historical suspense. She has released five titles in her cozy mystery series, By the Numbers, with Hidden Assets released the end of June. In addition, Leeann has written a devotional for accountants, bookkeepers, and financial folk, Counting the Days, and with her real-life persona, Donna Schlachter, has published a book on writing, Nuggets of Writing Gold, a compilation of essays, articles, and exercises on the craft. She publishes a free quarterly newsletter that includes a book review and articles on writing and books of interest to readers and writers. You can subscribe at http://www.leeannbetts.com/ or follow Leeann at http://www.allbettsareoff.wordpress.com/ All books are available on Amazon.com in digital and print, and at Smashwords.com in digital format.

Today Wednesday Writers is welcoming back best-selling author Darlene Franklin who will be talking about her book A Taste for Honey. A Taste for Honey is one of nine novellas in Blue Ribbon Brides Anthology. With summer’s state and county fairs in full swing this time of year, why not settle down with a fair-themed book as a summer read? After all, who doesn’t love homemade pies, preserves, and all those handmade goodies? With a title like A Taste for Honey, can you guess what Darlene will be talking about? Welcome, Darlene!

Old-Fashioned Beekeeping

By

Darlene Franklin

Thanks, Catherine.

Since the title of my book is A Taste for Honey¸ you might guess that my heroine harvests honey. But I wasn’t sure how beekeeping in 1896 differed from 2016. In fact, my heroine’s grandfather originally erected the equipment to catch the honey. So, I had to push back the style of beekeeping to the mid-nineteenth century.

I discovered several methods were used, but I chose the one that was easiest for me to understand, picture, and hopefully communicate in the story. I’m not as sure about the bee bonnet and heavy gloves I gave my heroine—but they moved the story forward. You see, my hero caused an accident and my heroine was stung. . .but that’s telling the story.

All the early equipment was designed as an artificial setting for bees to create their hives. I decided on the “log gum.” As the name suggests, it was made from a hollowed-out log. Bees preferred black gum wood when available, thus—a log gum.

Covers sealed the hollow log. Some used a “super” instead, which would collect the honey. That’s the kind my heroine’s family used, which allowed her easy access to the honey. The process disturbed the bees, so it could be an uncomfortable process.

A Taste of Honey begins with Edith’s trip to the meadow:

Edith Grace checked her outfit, making sure she was prepared to garner as much honey as possible in one trip. Harvesting honey for free from her neighbor was a deal made in heaven, as far as she was concerned. At the fiftieth annual Rutland State Fair, she intended to make her mark as the best baker in all of Vermont, thanks to Mr. Oscar’s honey.

Edith had watched Mr. Oscar harvest honey a few times from the supers over the hollow logs, called log gums for some reason, before she tried it by herself. Today was the third time she had donned her veil and thick gloves to gather the liquid gold. She approached the log gums with caution. Experience had taught her that bees didn’t want to sting her. It cost them their lives, after all. But experience had also taught her some stings were inevitable. Although she wasn’t allergic, but they still hurt and itched. Another reason she harvested as much as possible at one time—so she could wait before returning.

About the Author:

Best-selling author Darlene Franklin’s greatest claim to fame is that she writes full-time from a nursing home. She lives in Oklahoma, near her son and his family. She is an active member of Oklahoma City Christian Fiction Writers, American Christian Fiction Writers, and the Christian Authors Network. She has written over forty books and more than 250 devotionals.

A Taste for Honeyis one of nine novellas in Blue Ribbon Brides: Meet nine men and women whose competitive goals take them to state and county fairs between 1889 and 1930. From baking pie to polishing pigs, from sculpting butter to stitching quilts, everyone has something to prove to themselves and their communities. But in going for the blue ribbon, will nine women miss the greatest prize of all—the devoted heart of a godly man?

I have an empty slot today on Wednesday Writers, so I’m going to talk about how my characters got their names in my Inspirational romantic suspense The Nun and the Narc and give you a peek at how Sister Margaret Mary and the hero Jed met.

In some ways I feel like my characters told me who they were going to be. Sister Margaret Mary was originally Mary Margaret O’Connor. When I changed her from a missionary to a novice, I added the sister to her name. But when the hero, Jed, came on the scene he kept calling her Maggie, a name she hated, and she told him so repeatedly. But he wasn’t listening to her, or me who kept typing in Sister Mary Margaret. So I eventually obliged and changed her name to Margaret Mary. I thought it would less confusing for the reader for her to refer to herself as one name and the hero to be constantly reversing her names.

Jed’s name was a bit of a surprise, too. He’s introduced to the reader as Jed Barringer, but when he gave Margaret his undercover name, he threw me a curve, calling himself, “Bond. Jed Bond.” As I wrote those three words, I kept hearing the lilt of Sean Connery saying, “Bond. James Bond.” Apparently so did the good sister, because the name unhinged her. I got such a charge out of the scene where he told her his undercover alias that I just went with it, and I’m glad I did. His undercover name It provided a lot of humorous moments in between the suspense and action of the book.

The Nun and the Narc

The rear window glass erupted into the car’s interior, punctuating his words. The man fired at the attackers through the shattered back window.

“Shot?” Her voice rose an octave. “Oh, dear Lord in Heaven, what have I gotten into?”

“Trouble, Lady.” He fired off another round. “Big trouble.”

Margaret slid deeper into the front passenger seat, grabbing the door handle as the car careened around a corner.

I’m going to die. In a car crash. With a strange man. Heart pumping madly, she let go of the door handle just long enough to cross herself then grabbed it again as the car swerved. A guardian angel would be good here, Lord. And make it Dale Earnhardt! They swerved around another corner and she held on for dear life.

Oh, Mother Superior, maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not good nun material after all. Who else in the convent could get themselves into a mess like this?

“Are you a drug dealer?” she asked as they whizzed by a stand of woven tapestries.

The car swerved to the right, barely missing a burro. “That’s a need to know answer.”

Margaret braced herself against the seat when they careened past the animal. “Under the circumstances, I need to know.”

The man didn’t reply.

Margaret felt her temper rising. “Who are those guys and why are they after you?”

“After us,” he corrected.

Us? Panic scrabbled at her insides. Will people think I’m part of his illegal plan?Mother Superior will kick me out of the convent for sure.

“I haven’t done anything,” she protested.

The man ducked as a bullet shattered the left rear window. Margaret let go of the door handle and covered her head.

“Lady, you’re guilty by association.” He threw his arm over the seat and fired off a couple more shots. He cursed then spit a question at her. “Who are you anyway?”

A frantic giggle bubbled up inside of her at the familiar lilt of the phrase and his English accent. “And I suppose you’re in Her Majesty’s Secret Service, Jed Bond,” she said.

The giggle changed into a crazed laugh, a defense mechanism from her youth. She’d learned that if she appeared fearless when her two older brothers razzed her, they derived little pleasure from torturing her. The ploy had saved her on many occasions.

Jed stared at her as if she were insane. If the truth were known, she did feel a bit crazy at the moment. And lightheaded. And out of control. She hated being out of control.

Want to read more? Go to Amazon to read an excerpt and to purchase the book. Book is Available in print from Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

About the Author:

Catherine Castle is a multi-award-winning author. Her book The Nun and the Narc, from Soul Mate Publishing was an ACFW Genesis Finalist, a 2014 EPIC finalist, and the winner of the 2014 Beverly Hills Book Award and the 2014 RONE Award.

Before beginning her career as a romance writer she worked part-time as a freelance writer. She has over 600 articles and photographs to her credit, under her real name, in the Christian and secular market. Besides writing, Catherine loves traveling with her husband, singing, attending theatre, and writing and directing plays with her husband at their church. In the winter she loves to quilt and has a lot of UFOs (unfinished objects) in her sewing case. In the summer her favorite place to be is in her garden. She’s passionate about gardening and even won a “Best Hillside Garden” award from the local gardening club.

Her newest book, a romantic comedy with a touch of drama entitled A Groom for Mama, releases September 2017 with Soul Mate Publishing.

Everybody loves a good story and today on Wednesday Writers I have something a bit different for fiction lovers—a devotional series compiled by Kathy Ide, featuring inspirational short stories written by well-known Christian authors combined with a devotional. Please take the time to scroll down and look at this four-book series.

FICTION LOVERS DEVOTIONAL SERIES

COMPILED BY KATHY IDE

Christians today have long loved devotionals, but they are also developing a strong love for fiction. They want to read stories about characters they can relate to, who experience situations similar to their own, and learn from those examples how to live out their faith. For them, life lessons are more easily absorbed through reading fiction than any other way.

The Fiction Lovers Devotional Series fits all of these needs. Each book in this series is a collection of engaging, inspirational short fiction stories written by new, intermediate, and well-known Christian authors, including Angela Hunt, Deborah Raney, Cindy Woodsmall, Cecil Murphey, Tracy Higley, Robin Bayne, and more. Like Jesus’ parables, these stories deal with important life issues in a subtle, unpressured manner. And, as Jesus did, the authors follow up with life applications based on the stories, suggesting how the messages inherent in them can be applied to the reader’s daily life.

21 Days of Grace:

Stories that Celebrate God’s Unconditional Love

(released June 1, 2015)

21 Days of Grace is a collection of engaging, inspirational short fiction stories written by new, intermediate, and well-known authors including Angela Hunt, Deborah Rainey, Cindy Woodsmall, Cecil Murphey, Robin Bayne, and more. See the complete list of contributing authors.

21 Days of Christmas will warm your heart with stories about giving, loving, and family. These engaging tales celebrate the hope and joy that make this blessed season unique. At the end of each story you ll find an insightful message that will help you discover anew the true meaning of this special time of year.

So grab a cup of hot apple cider with a cinnamon stick, curl up in your favorite chair beside a picture window overlooking a serene spot, and savor the true meaning of Christmas through these inspirational and encouraging stories.”

This book contains stories written by Lena Nelson Dooley, Joanne Bischof, Jan Cline, Lynn Kinnaman, and more. See the complete list of contributing authors.

21 Days of Love is book 3 in the Fiction Lover’s Devotional series–collections of short fictional stories followed by brief Life Applications, each chapter written by a different author.

Love can be found in many treasured relationships: boyfriend-girlfriend, husband-wife, parent-child … with a special friend, teacher, or pet … in the kindness of a stranger. We even have a national holiday to celebrate love.

The greatest love ever known is God’s abundant love for us, His children. And He often demonstrates that perfect love through imperfect people.

21 Days of Joy: Stories that Celebrate Mom, book four in the Fiction Lover’s Devotional series, honors mothers of all varieties. Biological moms. Adoptive moms. Stepmothers. Grandmothers. Godmothers. “Second moms.” Even men who “mother” children when circumstances put them in that position. Whether you are a mother, have one, or know one, these heartwarming fictional stories will touch your soul, warm your heart, and help you see that you are not alone.

Today Wednesday Writers welcomes Christian author Donna Schlachter. Donna will be sharing an excerpt from her book Echoes of the Heart, which is a part of The Pony Express Romance Collection, as well as telling us about her father’s book, which she helped write, and why she writes for the King. Welcome, Donna.

Thanks, Catherine.

I wrote my dad’s memoirs a couple of years ago. Because we don’t live near each other, we spent time together at Christmas or Thanksgiving working on the book. I used a digital recorder and had a list of questions I needed answered. Once I got the story down, I’d send him several chapters at a time for him to review. Then I sent the final book, printed out in a binder, and he called with changes and corrections. Even once we sent it to a printer, we found errors in the galleys which we corrected.

My father held his book in his hand a month before he passed away.

He boasted to several people about his life story. The intake counselor at the hospice he went to was astounded he had a book, saying that many people came to this point in their lives wishing they’d written a book. She said she’d never known anybody who had.

I was so pleased to have been part of that process, to give my dad a book he was proud to hold in his hand. A book he was proud to have his name on.

Which got me to thinking about my other books. Would my Heavenly Father be proud to hold my other books in His hand? Would He be proud to have His Name on those books?

That changed the way I looked at my books. Because I realized they weren’t mine at all. He is the author. I simply transcribe the stories for Him.

And as such, it’s my job to be as accurate as I can. To show up for work every day. To do the best I can to listen and not inject myself into the story.

God’s job is to create the stories. To communicate them to me. To correct me when I get off track.

I like the partnership I have with Him. It takes a lot of pressure off me. When I’m staring at the blank page, I simply pray, “Lord, thank You for letting me be the first person you’ve ever shown this story to. Help me hear You correctly and do the work of transcribing.”

Knowing what I need to do and what I don’t need to do makes the job a lot easier which means I’m having a lot more fun. I’m working on the next book in my dad’s memoirs, and although he’s with Jesus now, I hope he’d be just as proud to hold this book in his hand as he was with the first one.

And I pray God would be proud to have His name on every book I’ve written.

And now for a peek at Donna’s book Echoes of the Heart

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Echoes of the Heart

By Donna Schlachter

Catherine Malloy, an orphan girl running from a compromising situation in Boston, answers a personal ad in a magazine, on behalf of her illiterate friend. Through his letters, she finds herself falling in love with this stranger. Benjamin Troudt is crippled and illiterate, and knows nothing of this ad. His route supervisor, Warton, who was helping Benjamin with the paperwork, has been given only a short time to live, and knows Benjamin needs help, so he places the ad. Can Catherine overcome her belief that the God of her parents has abandoned her? And can Benjamin allow God to open his eyes and his heart to love?

Excerpt:

Hollenberg Pony Express Station

Kansas Territory

May 1860

Chapter 1

Catherine Malloy braced a hand against the doorframe as the stage rounded a turn. A cloud of dust encircled the coach, filtering through the gaps in the doors, the curtains, the floor, and the roof, threatening to choke her. She coughed politely behind her gloved hand, cringing at the sight of the stains on her once-white hand coverings. Her spirits were as rumpled as her sleeves and skirt. Would the dirt ever come out?

But no matter how primitive the conditions, no matter how hostile the natives or how cold the winters—all stories she’d heard about the Wild West—she would not turn back.

She had nowhere to turn back.

When she’d excitedly read the advertisement in the magazine to her friend Margaret, neither had truly contemplated just how far the Kansas Territory was from Boston. Four days on the train to St. Joseph, Missouri had been just the beginning. Three days in this bouncing torture chamber, surrounded by surly men, snot-nosed children, and sharp-tongued women caused her to question her sanity and her decision more than once. She’d already eaten more dust than she’d known existed.

In Mr. Troudt’s first letter, he’d explained that he ran a way station and needed a wife. Neither she nor Margaret knew what that was. They knew a man from Australia, who talked about working at a sheep station. Perhaps a way station was similar.

Not that any of that mattered. She had no reason to go back. No family. No job.

Not after the way Master Talbott had approached her.

She shifted her drawstring purse from its place on the floor behind her feet. Its weight clanged against the boards. While not her ill-gotten bag of coins and jewelry, the packet weighed on her heart and her conscience equally.

She glanced at her fellow passengers as they rocked in time with the movement of the stage. A man in a suit who looked like a banker or a lawyer. Next to him, a minister coming west to seek his flock, as he’d told her at least a dozen times in the past four days. Sitting beside her, a woman traveling through to California, who’d said little to anybody, instead keeping her face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Catherine had lost count of the people with whom she’d shared cramped quarters. Most were strange traveling companions, to be certain. Not that she was looking for a bosom friend.

She would stay here. Hollenberg Station, Kansas Territory. Where the Oregon and California Trails brought emigrants past what would become her new home. Very different from her parents’ house where she’d grown up. Not at all like the even grander Georgian house she’d lived in with her aunt and uncle.

Until he’d squandered her inheritance and forced her into servitude in the Talbott mansion.

The only good from that whole debacle was Maggie.

A lump filled her throat, threatening to cut off her breath. Maggie had taught her how to survive when she thought life no longer worth living. Taught her to curtsey, to keep her gaze low, to smile when asked to do the impossible, and to keep quiet when told to do the unreasonable.

She shivered. But she was no automaton. When the master of the house had made his intentions clear, she’d refused his demands.

She knew her days in that household were numbered.

And then she’d seen the advertisement in the penny magazine. She had hoped this was her way out. In her excitement, she’d read the notice to Maggie since her friend could neither read nor write. And Maggie had instantly latched onto the notion that this was God’s answer to her prayers for a way to leave Boston.

Catherine sniffed at the idea. God had no interest in her life. Maybe in Maggie’s, but if that was true, why hadn’t He removed her from her dreary position, the long hours of hard work, the drudgery of servitude?

Despite her doubts about God’s hand in the matter, on Maggie’s behalf, she had penned a response to Mr. Benjamin Troudt, Hollenberg Station, Hanover, Kansas Territory.

A month later, a letter arrived at the mansion addressed to Miss Margaret Thomas.

And the whirlwind long-distance courtship commenced, punctuated by month-long pauses where they wondered if he would respond. And when he did, such giddy excitement.

Mr. Troudt described a beautiful place, using language as pretty as poetry. Despite the fact he wrote to Maggie, Catherine imagined herself cooking in the kitchen, making delicious meals for her husband and his ranch hands. She saw herself weeding their garden, feeding their hens, riding beside her husband into town to purchase supplies.

About the Author:

Donna lives in Denver with husband Patrick, her first-line editor and biggest fan. She writes historical suspense under her own name, and contemporary suspense under her alter ego of Leeann Betts. She is a hybrid publisher who has published a number of books under her pen name and under her own name. Her current release, Echoes of the Heart, a 9-in-1 novella collection titled “Pony Express Romance Collection” released April 1. Donna is also a ghostwriter and editor of fiction and non-fiction, and judges in a number of writing contests. She will be teaching an online course for American Christian Fiction Writers in June 2017, “Don’t let your subplots sink your story”. Donna loves history and research, and travels extensively for both.

Today I’m welcoming L.R. Burkard, aka Linore Rose Burkard, to Wednesday Writers. Lenore has recently switched genres and is giving us a peek into what sparked her Christian Post-Apocalyptic YA Suspense Dystopian setting in her series PULSE EFFEX. Keep reading for a peek into the third installment, DEFIANCE. Welcome, L.R.!

Thanks, Catherine.

When my sweet historical romance series was published, I never dreamed my next would be YA/dystopian. What a switch in genres! So, how did I go from one end of the writing spectrum to another? Blame it on an idea that refused to die. I read a headline about how close the earth came to suffering a catastrophic electromagnetic pulse, or EMP, in 2012. We missed the worst effects of a solar flare by a hair (in space terms); but the “what if” factor had been set in motion. What if that flare hadn’t missed us? What if I was a teen raised on electronics–or an adult medically dependent on them–and it all went dead in a matter of seconds? What if the next flare doesn’t miss? PULSE, the first book in my PULSE EFFEX Series, was born. This month, the third installment, DEFIANCE, releases!

Defiance

Defiance: Because sometimes resistance just isn’t enough.

In this third installment of the PULSE EFFEX SERIES, foreign soldiers and fellow Americans gone rogue are just the beginning of what Andrea, Lexie and Sarah must face. Beneath the threat of nuclear strikes and guerrilla armies, the girls long for a free country in which to live–and love. Survival means resistance must give way to defiance. But can ordinary teens and their families withstand powerful forces and keep hope alive?

A PEEK INSIDE

Angel took a handgun out of a side holster and handed it to me. “We’re gonna need you, Sarah.”

“I—I’ve only had a few lessons,” I said, weakly.

“Just aim and shoot when you need to,” she said, quietly. “It’s already chambered. Remember what we taught you—when a bullet’s chambered, it’s ready. Don’t aim it until you’re gonna use it and don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re gonna shoot.”

“Here they are!” Richard cried.

The gang of marauders appeared, descending upon the cabin with hoots and shouts that made my blood curdle. I took the gun with a sense of unreality. How could this be happening? It couldn’t be, because I, Sarah Weaver, did not take part in real battles! Sarah Weaver was an anxious, fear-filled teenager with enough insecurities for ten girls. I was the one to have panic attacks when alone; the one who’d been taking anti-depressants for two years—until the pulse stopped that.

I held the pistol up with shaky hands. And I knew: This was reality now. This was life, and there was no room for the old Sarah. I could not allow myself to crumple in weakness or fear.

About the Author:

Linore Rose Burkard wrote a trilogy of genuine regency romances for the Christian market before there were any regencies for the Christian market. Published with Harvest House, her books opened up the genre for the CBA. She also writes YA Suspense/Apocalyptic fiction as L.R. Burkard. Married with five children, she home-schools her youngest daughter, preferably with coffee in one hand and an iPad in the other. Her latest PULSE EFFEX SERIES, takes readers into a “chilling possible future for America while affirming the power of faith in the darkest of times.”

Today Wednesday Writers welcomes Kimberly Rose Johnson to the blog. Kimberly will be talking about setting for her contemporary romance An Encore for Estelle. Welcome, Kimberly!

Thanks, Catherine.

When I sat down to write A Love Song for Kayla, the first book in this series, I wanted to set it in a small town without having to do any research. I also wanted to place the story in Oregon—up to that point in my writing career, all of my published books had been set in Washington State, so I thought it would be nice to change states.

I created a town called Oak Knoll, positioned NW of Salem, in the Willamette Valley. The name was inspired by a golf course West of Salem called Oak Knoll Golf Course. I imagine my town is somewhere near the golf course.

Oak Knoll is quaint like any small town should be. It has the usual places: a coffee shop, florist, churches . . . you get the picture. In An Encore for Estelle we see the community center, where the theater is located and the coffee shop—I wanted a hangout where my characters could go and visit with one another outside the theater.

I’m currently writing the third book in the series, and I’ve added a block to the town where Amber’s dance studio is located. We meet Amber in An Encore for Estelle. She is the dance choreographer for the musical. She is also the main character in A Waltz for Amber, which I hope to release in October.

It’s been fun to create a town and see it expand as the series grows. So far I have two series set in actual places and two in fictitious locations. The advantage of making up own town is that I can have whatever I want there. The advantage of using a real location is that people can relate to the story when they’ve been there. It’s so fun for me when people tell me I nailed those locations, and they feel like they were there as they were reading.

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An Encore For Estelle

by Kimberly Rose Johnson

A former A-list actress seeks to redeem herself in the most unlikely of places—a children’s theater. The writer/director didn’t anticipate a famous actress would ever show interest in his musical much less him. Will their pasts pull them apart or join them together?

Excerpt:

Estelle turned to face the man. She sucked in a breath. He had to be over six feet tall. His dark hair had a messy look that she liked. Get it together. He wasn’t the first ruggedly handsome man she’d ever met. Plus there was Jeff.

He looked down at her with chocolate brown eyes. “It’s nice to meet you. Helen has told me all about you.”

Estelle’s face warmed. There was nothing remarkable about her, but people had always said stuff like that about her. Although it had never bothered her before, it did coming from Helen. She thought Helen knew her well enough to know she wasn’t all that.

Blake grinned, although it looked forced. “I’m heading to town. Did either of you need me to get anything while I’m there?”

“No thanks, but maybe Estelle would like to join you.” She raised a brow toward her.

Estelle caught her breath. Was her hostess trying to play matchmaker? She ought to warn her to give up now, because she was a relationship disaster. At least that’s what she felt like.

“How about it?” Blake asked. “Would you like to come along?” His words were friendly enough, but the look in his eyes was guarded. Almost like the last thing he wanted was for her to say yes.

Why did he seem wary? She didn’t recall ever meeting him—she would have remembered. “No thanks. I should finish my lunch then get settled.”

He dipped his head. “Okay then. See you around.” He turned and headed in the direction from which he’d come.

Estelle sat back into the chair she’d vacated when Blake showed up.

Helen leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Isn’t he cute?”

She burst into laughter. “You are old enough to be his mother.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to marry him. Goodness.” She frowned.

Estelle sobered. “I’m sorry, Helen. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Sorry, I overreacted. I’m fine. Don’t give it another thought.” She fanned her flushed face. “One would think at my age that I’d stop blushing so easily, but it appears that trait will forever plague me.”

“At least when you blush you’re pretty. When I blush, my neck turns red, and I get all blotchy.” Estelle made a silly face. “It happened once on set and the director was not happy. They had to take time out for the makeup artist to cover the red before we could continue filming.”

Helen bubbled with laughter. “It’s going to be fun having you here. Have you given any thought to how you’ll fill your time? I know three months is a long vacation.”

“I agree, and like I said, I may not stay the entire time. I have no idea how I’ll fill my days.” It’d been forever since she’d had the freedom to do whatever she wanted. There always seemed to be something or someone that needed her attention.

“You could volunteer at the community center. Every summer they do a children’s theater program. Auditions are coming up, and they’ll begin rehearsals soon.” She dipped her head and fiddled with her fork.

“You know I don’t act anymore.”

“So you said, but those kids don’t care. They’d be thrilled to have a real actress—” she raised a hand, “former actress mentor them. A little birdie told me you used to volunteer with the children’s theater in LA.”

Estelle sighed. It had been a long time since she’d done anything with the children’s theater. She liked kids, but she’d left that life. Then again, this was Helen asking. “I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too long. My son tells me this new musical is ambitious for such a small town, and Blake needs help.”

If Derek was concerned then there was probably reason to be. “What does Blake have to do with the children’s theater?”

“Didn’t I mention that it’s his brainchild? He coordinates the program. He’s the reason I invited you. Actually I’m hoping you’ll stick around through the summer too. The theater has become a big deal here, and no matter what Blake thinks, he can’t keep doing it all on his own.”

Estelle shook her head. This must be the real reason for Helen’s invitation to spend the summer with her. Not that she minded, but wished her friend had been upfront about the reason behind her request. “You neglected to mention any of this.” She felt snookered, but it was fine. She’d do almost anything for Helen. Plus the timing worked—at least for now. If she could manage to stay away from her restaurant, and her life for three months remained to be seen. If necessary she could fly home a couple of times to check up on things. The idea of working with the theater sent a tingle of excitement zipping through her. That settled it—she was in if Blake would have her. She loved the theater.

About the Author:

Kimberly Rose Johnson married her college sweetheart and lives in the Pacific Northwest. From a young child Kimberly has been an avid reader. That love of reading fostered a creative mind and led to her passion for writing. She especially loves romance and writes contemporary romance that warms the heart and feeds the soul. Kimberly holds a degree in Behavioral Science from Northwest University in Kirkland, Washington. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers. You can sign up for Kimberly’s newsletter via her website at: http://kimberlyrjohnson.com/index.html

Today I’m welcoming Johnnie Alexander to the Wednesday Writers blog. Johnnie going to talk a bit about writing what you know, a bit of life history which she used in her contemporary romance What Hope Remembers. Welcome, Johnnie.

Getting Back On—Long Years Later

By

Johnnie Alexander

When I was a young teen, I got thrown from a pony. And I mean tossed-in-the-air, fall-flat-on-my-back thrown.

A gracious onlooker said that it was the most graceful fall she’d ever seen. (That soothed my pride but not my aching muscles.)

A couple years later, I sat astride the family pony (which I seldom rode) in the pasture across from our house. I was content with a quiet walk, but he decided it’d be more fun to stay with the others in our group.

He jogged.

His saddle slid sideways.

I ended up on the hard ground.

You all know what they say about getting back on after falling off, right? I’ve heard that, too.

But instead of heeding that advice I never rode again.

Fast-forward a few, ahem, decades.

I’ve decided my newest contemporary romance needs a horse-riding hero. Come to find out, the heroine rode horses, too, when she was a young girl. Then her parents died in a fiery plane crash, and she quit the activity she loved most because her dad was no longer there to cheer her on.

A friend from church who is an avid rider and trains her own horse had given me tips on “horse lingo” for a historical novella I’d previously written so I turned to her again.

“I think I want to take riding lessons,” I said. “Just a few.”

“I know just the person to teach you,” she replied.

As it turned out, my first riding lesson was with my friend. I rode Chance, a glistening black beauty, while she held onto the lunge line. We rode in giant circles while I did my best to stay in the saddle. I enjoyed it though I was intimidated by Chance’s size. (Hey, I’m barely five feet tall.)

Chance and Johnnie

The following week, we went to the stables where I’d end up taking several lessons. On that first visit, the instructor asked my goals.

“I just want to be comfortable,” I said. “To do something I’m afraid of and not be afraid anymore.”

She told me about Gabby. “But she’s a pony. Most adults don’t want to ride ponies.”

“I’m not too proud,” I quickly said. “I’d love to ride Gabby.”

Gabby and Johnnie

It turned out Gabby was the perfect choice. She was a tall pony—larger than the ponies you often see at carnivals or fairs for children to ride.

Over the next few weeks, I learned to keep my heels down, my back straight, to properly hold my reins, and even a tiny bit of dressage.

Then the holidays came and several weeks later, I moved away.

But I’ll never forget my riding lessons with Gabby, and how even that little bit of horsemanship added more realism to the scene where my heroine rides again for the first time in years. After all, I knew how much her behind would ache!

I hope to ride again sometime.

If I can find another tall pony as sweet and gentle as Gabby.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

What Hope Remembers

By Johnnie Alexander

When Amy Somers loses her job as a lobbyist, she moves to Misty Willow, well aware that she’s crossing bridges she’d burned years before. With all the mistakes she’s made and the uncaring things she’s done–even to her own family–she can hardly believe that happiness will find her, especially when Gabe Kendall, her first crush and her first kiss, rides back into her life atop a buckskin mare.

A former Marine, Gabe is at loose ends after serving a prison sentence for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He sees beyond Amy’s hard exterior to the girl he once knew and loved, and he longs to see her open her heart. Yet with his vision clouded by shame for his past and fears about the future, he finds it difficult to see the path ahead.

But the memory of that long-ago kiss just may have the power to reignite a romance that brings out the best in both of them.

Excerpt

The June sun beat on Gabe Kendall’s bare head and tapped into his childhood memories of the horse farm. He leaned his arms on the weathered fence and let his mind bask in the remembrance of long summer days under tranquil blue skies.

The pastures, lush and green. The paddock with its packed dirt circuit. The stables, once alive with the soft snuffles of contented horses and the familiar smells of oiled leather, fresh hay, and honest sweat.

Except for the glow of memory, nothing was the same.

The horse barn, the machine shed, even the nearby house were smaller than he remembered. Perhaps a consequence of seeing his uncle’s place for the first time with grown-up eyes. Or maybe his imagination had tricked him into thinking everything about the place was bigger. God knew he’d experienced too many nights when the only way he could lull himself to sleep was to conjure up happier times.

That long-ago summer, the summer after Mom’s last illness, he’d cut hay, filled the silo with the yellow kernels of newly harvested corn, and ridden horseback every chance he got. When the chores were done, he dozed beneath the old sycamore back by the pond. And he prayed for a return to before. The same prayer he wanted to pray now.

Not that it would do any good.

Praying wouldn’t erase the cracked paint on the fence and the buildings, the clumps of weeds overtaking the grass. Wouldn’t transform the land into the paradise he remembered. Ugly facts taunted him with their staunch reality.

A forlorn air hung over the place, heavy with regret and heartache. But the silent emptiness wasn’t because of his adult perspective or the glow of childhood memory.

Whisper Lane Stables might be a thriving business if Rusty were still alive. Except then he’d know how low Gabe had fallen…

About the Author:

Johnnie Alexander is a wannabe vagabond with a heart for making memories. While relaxing on her Sunshine State patio with her dogs Rugby and Griff, she writes stories that tug at your heartstrings. She has won the prestigious American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) Genesis Contest (Historical) and received several conference awards. Johnnie is marketing director for the Mid-South Christian Writers Conference and past president of both the ACFW Memphis and ACFW Central Florida chapters.